


Rewired

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even McKinley’s resident troublemaker, Blaine Anderson, has his secrets. A dance instructor named Kurt Hummel, though, just might undo them and, in doing so, fix him. (Dom!Kurt, sub!Blaine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is in a D/s universe setting, so everyone is either a Dom or a sub.
> 
> As far as sex goes, don't expect anything crazy kinky - unless I change my mind, I'd say mild bondage/breathplay/orgasm denial would be the hardest it goes. I'm looking to explore the dynamic of this particular story more than anything.
> 
> This is also a 'verse on my blog rather than a chapterfic, though I figured the latter format would work better here - if you wanna check out the tag, [go here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v:%20rewired)
> 
> In this chapter: ... just Blaine on Blaine time.

Blaine has no idea why the fuck he’s here. He could be smoking or even  _sleeping_  right now, but instead he’s stuck at this school assembly after being threatened with an F for his English class. Not that he remembers what they ever do in that class… he’s pretty sure there’s a book he’s supposed to be reading, but whatever. The point is, it’s that teacher’s fault he’s here to watch whatever cheesy performance Figgins has lined up for today. So he’s pissed.

He’s leaning against the back wall of the auditorium and no one’s looking back at him, so he takes the opportunity to roll up his left sleeve, only for a second or two, and grasps his wrist with his right hand.

As far as the school is concerned, Blaine Anderson has been marked as a Dom since he turned thirteen. The thick black band on his right wrist is a clear indicator, after all.

Except it’s not real — it’s a tattoo.

The only true mark he has is on his left wrist, currently hidden underneath the fingers of his right hand and a myriad collection of rubber bands and dark-colored bracelets used as a sort of camouflage. Because it’s not one thick band, but two thin ones side by side. The mark of a sub.

It’s extremely illegal (not to mention difficult) to pretend one way or another, but Blaine isn’t so concerned about the law as he is about never being the victim again, which is sure to happen if he reveals that he’s actually a sub along with being gay. Soon after he turned fourteen, he’d been sent to the hospital on multiple occasions by students at his old school — he wasn’t marked yet, a late bloomer, which was enough to inspire cruelty which intensified as soon as he came out. After one particularly horrible incident, his parents had finally decided to move, which happened to coincide with the appearance of his sub mark.

The only measure of safety he had back then had been to find a discreet tattoo artist that was willing to falsely mark him as a Dom. A little wardrobe change followed, and Blaine had been able to convince his new school, McKinley High, that he was much the opposite of submissive or vulnerable. No longer would he accept being targeted if he could help it.

"Anderson, sit down," calls Coach Beiste from where she’s standing in the doorway. Taken by surprise, Blaine sits down so quickly that he draws stares from some of the students in the rows in front of him. He swears under his breath, trying to get his racing heart and sub behaviors under control. That’s probably the hardest part — many of the teachers are Doms, and even the rare direct orders from subs cause Blaine’s legs to ache for the concrete sensation of kneeling on a hard floor. Suppressing his hormones probably hasn’t been the best course of action, he muses, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He has a reputation to protect.

"Quiet children," Figgins announces meekly from the stage. Blaine rolls his eyes, the confused gazes of the others now turned in the opposite direction. "Today I am delighted to introduce one of McKinley High’s alumni, who will be performing a routine of modern dance in order to promote his summer classes at the Lima Community Center. Please welcome Mr. Kurt Hummel."

There’s a smattering of applause; Blaine claps once for the hell of it and stretches himself out as much as possible in the chair — which isn’t much, and that brings his thoughts back to sleeping in his own appropriately-sized bed because  _fuck_  is he tired today.

Music starts to play, something vaguely recognizable —  _West Side Story_ , he thinks, and he’s right when the song turns out to be America, though the verses are interspersed with other selections from the musical. Blaine likes musicals a lot, not that he’d admit it to anyone. Sometimes he catches himself watching performances on Youtube and singing along. His interest piqued, Blaine decides he should at least see who this Kurt guy is, so he straightens up in his seat.

What he sees takes his breath away.

Even from the back of the room, Blaine can see that Kurt is wearing a clinging black tank top and a sinfully tight pair of shocking red pants that have to be made of some kind of stretchy material because Kurt’s currently laid out on the floor with his legs bent underneath him. The music continues to play and Kurt moves fluidly, flawlessly with the rise and fall of it.

Once he stands and faces the audience face-on, his expression blank except for what Blaine swears has to be a tiny smirk, something else draws Blaine’s attention entirely: a black band around Kurt’s right wrist, contrasting starkly with the ivory tones of his skin. It’s undoubtedly the Dom mark and it makes Blaine shiver, makes him avert his eyes.

There’s no question of dominance in Kurt’s demeanor as he seems not exactly to be following the music with his body, but forcing the music to follow  _him_. So it’s hardly a surprise when Blaine finds himself holding his wrist again for some semblance of forced, comforting restraint.

_Fuck._

The music wraps up and Kurt finishes on his hands and knees, a tantalizing image of submission overlapped with that unshakable dominance in the set of his jaw that has Blaine rushing out the door before anything else can happen. 

He’s home in record time — screw the fact that someone might have noticed him leaving, screw the fact that that means he’ll get his F; he can’t take it anymore. Blaine yells for his parents to see if they’re home, getting no response (thank  _god_ ) and soon he’s sprinting up the stairs and into his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Blaine slows down then and stares around the familiar space with a vague sense of indecision. It’s not like he’s never jerked off when he gets overwhelmed with the need to be submissive — he’s spent plenty of hours kneeling on his mattress, eyes downcast as he imagines a voice telling him exactly what to do and when to do it. But it has always been an abstract sort of thing.

Now he wants more, but the problem is… he doesn’t know what  _more_  means to him. Blaine sags against the door and bites down on nothing in a last-ditch attempt to stave off the burning need deep in his gut, that ache in his wrists and legs, and gives up within seconds; his knees hit the carpeted floor of his room with a dull jolt of beautiful, steadying pain. It feels a little better already, but not good enough.

Blaine waits there, hands on his thighs, and lets himself imagine again. Except this time there’s no voice, just the image of the dancer, Kurt. Under normal circumstances Blaine would be embarrassed (he watched the guy for, what, ten minutes?), and maybe he’ll feel that way later but right now it’s just such a fucking  _relief_  to have a focus point that he doesn’t care.

 _God_ , he’s hard, has been for some time now, but he can’t do anything about it yet. Something tells him to wait longer so he does, his gaze burning into the floor in front of him as the ache in his knees spreads then numbs; he shifts and it returns in a bright flash before dulling again. Blaine bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut to better picture Kurt, who in his mind is doing nothing but watching him. He could be more imaginative but for some reason he doesn’t want to.

A little whine escapes him; the Kurt in his head nods and Blaine shudders, a hand coming to cup himself through his jeans. He can’t help rocking into it, rough and needy, but that doesn’t get him any closer.

"Please" slips out to the empty room, and if Blaine had space for it in his head, he’d realize that it’s the first time he’s actually said something out loud while doing this.

As it is, he’s quickly losing himself to bone-deep, impending heat, chasing that elusive spark. Fuck, he just wants to be  _touched_ , wants someone else’s hands (Kurt’s, maybe, definitely) on him and skimming, searching his skin and leaving him whole and scattered. But he can’t have that and for the first time it’s actually frustrating him, that he can’t be rewarded by someone that isn’t here to see him kneeling like this.

With all the imagination he can muster, the figment of Kurt settles on his knees in front of him, his back straight and a gentle smirk playing at his lips. Blaine can  _almost_  feel it when Kurt cups his chin and leans in, close enough to kiss him if he’d only move mere centimeters nearer. He can  _almost_  pretend that it’s Kurt undoing his jeans, and for now it’s enough to just take himself out of his briefs and start stripping his hand along his cock in long, quick strokes. Except not his hand, but Kurt’s; Blaine’s free hand grips his thigh almost painfully, the pinpricks of his blunt nails a beacon along with the man in his head.

He’s on the edge when he stops and squeezes, a tiny sob breaking loose while he resists the urge to fuck into that fist — there had been no voice but he feels sure he’s done the right thing, and despite the wrenching loss of that white-hot spark, Blaine basks in imagined praise.

His hand (or Kurt’s; for all current intents and purposes, they’re the same to him) starts up a slower pace after a minute or two. Still, the heat builds quicker than he expects it to, and it’s too soon when he stops again with a high-pitched groan that fills the empty space of his room.

The third time, it’s like he’s been given permission to see it through, and Blaine can’t stay quiet to save his life; it’s okay, though, the Kurt in his head likes that and twists his hand on the upstroke and Blaine’s gone, tumbling blissfully into white and crawling slowly back, muscles limp.

His image of Kurt has faded and it’s just Blaine in his room, slumped forward as he waits for his heart rate to return to normal. Once it does he stands — and winces, his legs unimaginably, perfectly sore.

Somehow he makes it to his bed, manages to reach the tissue box in his drawer, and wipes himself clean. His shirt has to go, though, so he takes it and his jacket off, tossing them towards a pile of clothing that he plans on throwing in the wash later. Only now does it come to his attention that he’s  _hot_ ; the air against his bare skin is a fucking godsend.

Blaine lies on his bed and does nothing else for a few minutes, his body too slack and sore to be of much use in anything. He takes the opportunity to mull over what just happened, shame prickling down his spine — he’s all too used to feeling shameful, often despising the choices he makes after they’ve already passed (not that it prevents him from making the same ones time after time — again, reputation is key to his façade) but it’s never felt quite as keen as this.

He doesn’t  _know_  Kurt. The guy isn’t some attractive classmate that Blaine might occasionally wink at, he’s into his twenties and he’s an instructor and Blaine is a stupid seventeen year-old student that’s ashamed of his own submissiveness.

But god, is he a sub. And Kurt — Blaine can’t pretend anything different, he wants Kurt to have his way with him, to play his body until he’s strung out and left to hang on by threads to command and contact. He wants to please Kurt most of all, wants that warm praise in a voice he doesn’t yet know and a touch he hasn’t yet experienced.

Blaine scoffs; he’s never going to see Kurt again. It’s not like he’ll line up for those dance classes just because of the instructor, and besides, he’d most likely blow his own cover if he tried to make it through them like he does school. School he can handle, even if it gets overwhelming at times — as for Kurt, he can’t be sure. He couldn’t handle a few minutes of watching the man move, so it’s probably not even a question.

Grunting, Blaine rolls over and buries his face against his pillow. He’s so fucking screwed.

* * *

 

The arrival of summer a few months later is bittersweet.

For one, Blaine doesn’t have to force his gaze up and back straight in hallways and classrooms for hours on end. That’s the good part. The bad part is, he did indeed end up with that F in English (damn Coach Beiste and her sixth sense apparently made just for him), so he has to attend summer school. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid.

The teacher is an obvious sub, at least, so Blaine doesn’t have to work very hard to pretend given the lack of students in the room. McKinley actually does fairly well with the subject as a school, so it’s just him and two other guys that are constantly too stoned to look at Blaine, much less convey a strong air of dominance.

The Lima Community Center is, quite possibly, the most depressing place Blaine has ever had the misfortune to visit. Regardless, he smiles at the people that don’t know him and won’t ever know him, a genuine attempt to brighten the days of those that have to spend hours upon hours in that place. His reputation doesn’t matter so much where there’s no one to spread rumors to the main student body. It’s nice, really, this kind-of-not-pretending thing.

Of course, he still has the tattoo and still maintains his faux Dom demeanor everywhere except in the safety and solitude of his home.

Blaine’s wearing it as he walks into the building one windy Thursday afternoon in June. He doesn’t usually come in on Thursdays but he has a question about his assignment and nothing better to do, so he’d figured, why not? He  _wants_  to graduate, believe it or not.

Everything looks the same going in. Blaine beats the usual path down the hallways, grins at a well-dressed woman that passes, and almost doesn’t register the fact that there’s music. When he does, he stops walking, intrigued as only music can make him. It’s coming from one of the rooms and Blaine dithers on the spot for a moment — he thinks,  _fuck it_ , and starts to peer into the small, rectangular windows of each of the doors.

It’s the third or fourth door that’s a winner. Blaine can see a sort of dance studio inside along with a piano shoved against one wall. There are people — not many but not few, either — and they’re currently stretching as the music plays on. Blaine’s angle prevents him from seeing the quarter of the room that they’re all facing, which must be where the instructor or whoever’s running this show is.

He should forget about it and move on so he can get his question answered, but something keeps Blaine at the door and wondering if he could go inside. Why, he’s not sure, but he could totally get away with saying he got the wrong room or something. That would buy him enough time to satisfy his curiosity as to… whatever he’s curious about. It’s a little frustrating, not knowing.

Blaine steels himself and pushes the door open, stepping inside without making eye contact with anyone. Eye contact with the wrong person, he’s learned, doesn’t usually end well. Still, he realizes too late that there are people he  _knows_  in this room — not by name, but they’re definitely some of his classmates. They’re all staring and Blaine clears his throat, standing tall and fighting the instinct to become smaller.

"Is there something I can help you with?" asks a soft, melodic, slightly annoyed voice. Blaine turns and his head and there’s  _Kurt_ , even more stunning up close and  _fuck_  it’s so much harder to keep his posture up now. Is it possible to be so affected by one person? Blaine asks himself, aware that he’s in no position to come up with an answer.

Blaine shakes his head. Kurt tilts his, confused. Kurt’s eyes — blue and grey and with all the beauty and danger of a quiet summer storm — trail automatically to Blaine’s wrists; his eyebrow arches at the Dom mark tattoo.

"Well, are you here to join us?" Blaine doesn’t say anything, all his energy focused on keeping himself upright because he can’t succumb to this in front of these people, he just can’t. He just prays to nonexistent gods that Kurt won’t command him to do anything, even offhandedly. This, however, is not his lucky day. "Answer me."

"I can’t," Blaine blurts out. He can feel the stares on him, some mildly intrigued and others downright giddy at the possibility of juicy gossip on the mysterious Blaine Anderson.

"Why?"

Goddamnit, why can’t Kurt just let him go? Then again, Blaine’s not sure he could leave if he tried. He’s stuck. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he says, “I don’t answer to you.”

The disapproval in Kurt’s demeanor nearly breaks him down; Blaine shudders involuntarily but manages to keep from giving himself away. He’s starting to feel light-headed, though, and he sways slightly where he stands.

Kurt watches him closely — suddenly he’s turning to the group and saying, without a change in his passive expression, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to escort this young man to wherever he should be right now. Just keep stretching, I should be back soon.”

Then he looks back at Blaine and walks towards him. Blaine doesn’t register anything in his haze until he feels Kurt’s hand at the small of his back, and the touch itself both steadies and throws him by such a margin that he gasps, quiet but clear. Kurt guides him out the door and Blaine — doesn’t know where they’re going, can’t care about it, he’s so fucking unbalanced right now but it feels so indescribably good to have Kurt touching him that it’s all sending him into a mental spiral.

"Breathe," Kurt tells him quietly, and Blaine does, grateful for it as Kurt’s hand rubs once against his spine. "In here."

It’s an empty classroom, which confuses Blaine. He’d expected to be taken to a teacher or the front desks, at least, so that Kurt could get him to where he needs to be. Which isn’t actually anywhere at all since he doesn’t have to be here today, but that doesn’t matter. Right now Kurt’s hand is leaving him as he turns around to face Blaine, arms crossed. But he doesn’t look angry or anything, just… gentle, his gaze warm.

"Relax and let me know when you’re ready to talk," he says, and Blaine nods, letting his shoulders loosen. It feels good to be told what to do after so long, and even better to give up on pretending to be above commands.

"I’m sorry," Blaine says once his breathing is even. He wants to go to his knees but he’s not sure if Kurt wants that, and it’s still a little embarrassing to him. But he’s beyond positive that Kurt knows exactly what he’s hiding. In lieu of kneeling, he casts his gaze low. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."

"I don’t care about that," Kurt says. "I just want to know how long you’ve been masquerading as a Dom."

"Uh,  _fuck_ , um, almost four years, I think.” Kurt doesn’t respond to the expletive, just whistles low.

"What’s your name?"

"Blaine Anderson."

"Okay, well, Blaine," Kurt starts with a small frown, "I don’t think I have to tell you how unhealthy that is."

"I have to do it," Blaine says in a whisper, the sentence slipping out before he can take it back. "It sucks but I— I can’t—"

"You can’t…"

"I can’t be a victim anymore." Blaine looks back up at Kurt, his head still tipped so that he’s looking through his eyelashes. He pulls off the rubber bands on his left wrist and flexes it, feeling lighter at the relief of showing his sub mark to someone at last. "Before I got this, I— I don’t know, it was bad. I didn’t have it when everyone else had theirs, and then I came out of the closet, and—" Blaine laughs, humorless. "—people didn’t like any of that. If I’m a Dom, even if I’m gay, and if I look and act like this… they leave me alone."

Kurt nods. Blaine can’t help but feel understood despite having no idea if Kurt actually sympathized with him or not. He doesn’t have to worry about it for too long.

"I shouldn’t do this," Kurt mutters to himself, loud enough for Blaine to hear. "I’m technically a teacher, I’m— Blaine, how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Twenty-five," Kurt says, leaning back against the desk behind him. "Okay. Do what you need to do to feel good, Blaine. There’s no one here but me."

Blaine sinks to his knees immediately, back straight, head bowed, hands tight on his thighs. The unforgiving tile underneath him presses sharp, but it’s perfect. It’s everything he needs, to kneel for someone real and know that he’s following orders that are actually being given. There’s nothing sexual about it right now — it’s all about Blaine pleasing a Dom and, in return, feeling the stress of years of pretending drip away through the cracks that Kurt’s quickly making in his exterior. This is what’s right, he thinks.

"Hands behind your back," Kurt adds a minute later. Blaine clasps them, a barely-there, amazing burn starting already in his arms from the stretch. "Look at me." Blaine does. "On a scale of one to ten, that is, worst to best, tell me how you feel."

"Seven."

"What do you need to do to get to ten?"

"Anything you want me to. Sir?" Blaine tries on his tongue; it feels good.

Kurt’s lips curve into a smile. “God, it’s a shame you’ve been keeping that away from people. But call me Kurt. I’m not really one for titles, not even Mr. Hummel.”

Blaine shudders a little, says, “Yes, Kurt.” The name feels better, maybe just because it’s what Kurt wants.

Kurt stands up fully. “Come here, on your knees.”

Blaine lifts himself up on his knees and shuffles the few feet forward until he’s right in front of Kurt and looking up at him, neck straining. He doesn’t have to crane his neck for long, though; Kurt crouches in front of him and his hand comes to cup Blaine’s cheek.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he says gently. Blaine frowns.

"But—"

"Tell me, Blaine."

A soft whine, then, “Kiss me, please, Kurt.”

"Good," Kurt hums, then the space between their lips is gone and Blaine feels like he might burst from praise and touch and everything else all at once. It’s a breathtaking, splendid feeling; he’s being put back together, rewired with each drag of Kurt’s lips on his. He wants to drown in it, let Kurt take care of him forever. It should be a scary word, "forever," but it’s not.

Kurt breaks the kiss and Blaine chases his lips without thinking, wanting more of that restorative contact that he’s needed for so long. He glances down as Kurt brings one of the student chairs around to sit in front of him.

"Look at me, sweet—" Kurt shakes his head as he cuts himself off. "Blaine."

"Can I ask you something, Kurt?" Blaine asks as he looks up, a little flutter of foreign nervous energy settling low in his stomach. Maybe he would have scoffed at the idea of getting nervous over a boy before today, but this is different. Kurt’s definitely not his age, for one thing, and far from anything else Blaine is… grateful, and curious. Guys like Kurt don’t just kiss boys like him after they’ve known each other for mere minutes, whether Blaine practically begs for it (as he had) or not.

"Go ahead."

"I know you wanted me to tell you what I wanted, so I did and — it was awesome, but why?"

Kurt looks confused. “Why what?”

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because you wanted it and I hoped it would help, somehow."

"Oh."

"And — I’m not officially your teacher so I think I can say this — you’re pretty cute. It wasn’t like it was a hardship." Kurt winks and Blaine can’t help it; he smiles.

"It did help," Blaine says quietly.

Kurt watches him, calculating. “Only for right now. You’re just gonna feel like that again when you go back to pretend some more.” Blaine nods, ashamed. Kurt doesn’t sound angry, he doesn’t even sound mildly disappointed, but Blaine can’t shake the notion that whatever he chooses to do is wrong one way or another. “Okay. Let me be clear: none of this is me telling you to do anything.”

Puzzled, Blaine nods again.

"I think that it’s wildly unhealthy to do what you’re doing all the time, but I also don’t think you should do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing. Screw the law." Blaine chuckles. "Still, you’re doing a lot of damage to yourself by fighting your submissive instincts… do you masturbate?"

Blaine blinks, shocked at how up front the question is. “Yes.”

"In submissive positions?"

"Yes."

"That’s good, but I’m guessing it’s not enough. Is there anyone you can physically submit to, kind of like what just happened here? There doesn’t have to be anything sexual about it, though it helps if there is."

Blaine shakes his head. Kurt urges him to clarify so he adds, “No one knows and I don’t trust anyone enough to tell them.”

Kurt’s expression turns thoughtful. “You don’t have to kneel anymore if you don’t want to. This tile flooring is hell.”

"It’s okay, it’s nice," Blaine says. It does still hurt a little bit, but he’s mostly used to it by now. And he feels like if he shifts that sensation away, he’ll fall back into his spiral. It’s something to hold on to, along with Kurt’s presence and voice. "Um, Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Could you—" Blaine falters because  _be my Dom?_  sounds too much like he’s asking Kurt to formally claim him but  _help me?_  sounds fucking pitiful and not clear enough. He finally settles on “Could I submit to you like that?” even though it’s still not quite right. He doesn’t know what’s right, though, there’s nothing  _right_  about this entire situation and yet he’s never felt less wrong in his life.

Kurt’s eyes widen and, for the first time, he seems taken aback. “Blaine, I couldn’t.”

"I’m legal and, you said it yourself, I’m not technically your student."

"No, but there are still laws."

"Fuck them," Blaine mutters under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Screw the law, right?" Blaine says a little louder. "Who cares what they think at the White House? I just need— I need—"  _I need you._

"Blaine."

Kurt’s voice snaps through him like a whip and he stops talking, looking back down between them. Sighing, Kurt reaches down and tilts his chin back up so they’re looking each other directly in the eyes. Blaine knows his must be shining with frustrated tears, but he’s not embarrassed about them.

"If we’re going to do this, I need you to be sure. Are you?"

"Yes," Blaine breathes out, starting to grin. "You mean… ?"

Kurt smirks. “It’s hard to resist you when you’re like this. First things first: give me your phone.”

Blaine breaks the clasp of his hands behind him to reach into his pocket, wincing at the burn in his arms. Kurt takes it and puts his number in before giving it back to Blaine.

"I want you to text me if you need me, and depending on what I’m doing, I’ll meet you somewhere or call you or whatever."

Nodding, Blaine leans forward so that his cheek rests against Kurt’s thigh. Seemingly out of reflex, Kurt’s hand finds the loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck and tugs gently on it. That and his new proximity to Kurt’s crotch gives Blaine an idea, but apparently his expression gives him away.

"Another time, sweetheart," Kurt says without cutting off the endearment this time. "I have a dance class to teach and you have some more trouble to get in, I’m sure."

"You’re a bad influence," Blaine says cheekily. His breath hitches when Kurt tugs once, hard.

"We’ll see about that." Kurt lets go and stands; he motions at Blaine, who follows him to his feet. "Whoa there," he mutters as Blaine stumbles, his legs numb. "Sit in a chair until you can get out of here without hurting yourself, alright? And text me later so I have your number."

He heads for the door as Blaine slumps in the chair, just now realizing that everything that just happened  _actually happened_. He has an unofficial Dom, and it’s Kurt, and he can take care of him so well already — fuck, he’s feeling so damn good right now.

"Oh, and Blaine?" Kurt calls, turning around before he opens the door. "I’m assuming you’ve never had any kind of sex before, right?"

Blaine makes an affirming noise; sex had always been too intimate, too dangerous. There’s no way he can keep his cover in such a position.

Kurt visibly sucks in a long breath. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves and Blaine almost takes his phone out of his pocket to text him right away, but he stops, reasoning that Kurt has a class anyway and won’t be able to respond for some time. But then he reasons that Kurt doesn’t have to answer because the whole point is just to exchange numbers for now.

  
 **To: Kurt**  
hey, this is Blaine

  
As expected, he doesn’t receive any immediate response, so Blaine waits in the empty classroom, rubbing at the sore muscles of his legs until they’re fully functional. He leaves the building then (after covering up his sub mark, of course), the assignment question having completely abandoned him in the whirl of everything else that’s in his brain right now. It’s a good kind of spiral, though, and he hasn’t felt this at ease in years.

It isn’t until he’s leaning against the dirty brick of one of Lima’s older downtown buildings while trying to decide what to do next that his phone dings with a new message.

  
 **From: Kurt**  
I don’t have any rules for you yet because I want to talk to you in person about that, but I do want to let you know that I’m so glad I get to teach you how to be an amazing sub for your future Dom. You have serious potential.

  
Blaine’s heart sinks a little; he can’t imagine anyone but Kurt as his Dom, even as early on as this. Hell, he’s been imagining Kurt for months now, ever since he saw him on McKinley’s stage. But he pushes that away — feelings he can deal with later.

  
 **To: Kurt**  
may I ask what my first private lesson will be on?

  
It’s mostly a joke that Blaine expects Kurt to roll his eyes at, so he’s utterly surprised when he gets a message back.

  
 **From: Kurt**  
Blowjobs, and I have a feeling you’re going to excel at it. After that, we’ll see how versatile you can be.

 

Blaine lets out a hissing breath and “Fuck” as he imagines having his tongue, his  _mouth_ , on Kurt.

It’s going to be a fucking amazing summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: rather one-sided phone sex, fingering

Blaine had fully expected to be able to make it the week or so that it would take for him to meet up with Kurt next (the guy apparently had a lot to do, which almost made Blaine want to ask about it but it’s not as though they’re close enough to speak so casually). Instead, he ends up making a wrong turn downtown and running into a rather hostile-looking Dom with a sickeningly predatory smile.

He gets away, manages to hold himself together and “be cool” about it, but as soon as he reaches his house, Blaine has to grip the edge of the kitchen sink as he wrestles with long-suppressed submissive instincts mixed with utter revulsion. He’s fucking  _shaking_ , it’s that bad, and it isn’t until he wanders jerkily to his room that he remembers Kurt. 

Tearing his jacket off — the leather’s starting to stick to his skin thanks to sweat — Blaine throws himself onto his bed with a strangled groan. He doesn’t really know what to make of how he’s feeling; all he knows is that something is aching inside him and it’s making him a little bit sick that it was that particular Dom that instigated it.

What he should do is submit here in his room like he has plenty of times before, to take that edge off his submissive needs, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s someone he needs to tell first. He actually  _has_  someone to tell first.

  
**To: Kurt**  
I need to submit

  
To his relief, an answer comes lightning-quick.

  
**From: Kurt**  
Do you want me to call you?

  
**To: Kurt**  
yes, please

  
**From: Kurt**  
Okay. When I do, put me on speaker and kneel on your bed.

  
Blaine can’t help it; he smiles, a little of his tension draining away as he straightens the sheets, waiting for Kurt’s call. After a moment of uncertainty, he pulls a small, unopened bottle of lube from the back of his nightstand drawer. He doesn’t want to make Kurt wait at any time if at all possible, so it’s probably better to be prepared for whatever might happen.

The call comes a few moments later and Blaine hurries to follow his first instructions as soon as he answers.

"Hi," he says — and he curses himself internally when it comes out a little bit breathless and giddy. He may be a sub but he’s not an overeager teenager with a crush, absolutely not.

"Hey, Blaine." Well fuck, maybe he is. "Are you okay?"

The question surprises Blaine. In general, people don’t ask him if he’s ‘okay’ or anything of the sort, even if they’re being decent towards him. He almost expects it to be irritating, but when Kurt asks, it’s… nice. It’s like being cared for.

"I am now," he says truthfully, steadfastly ignoring the sappy connotation.

"Tell me what happened?"

Blaine winces. “It’s stupid.”

He hears a soft chuckle and the clink of silverware; maybe Kurt’s making dinner or doing the dishes. “I doubt it. Come on, spill.”

"It was just some Dom guy downtown," Blaine mutters shamefully. "I ran into him by accident and he didn’t even say anything, just kind of smiled at me all creepy and I had to get away before I embarrassed myself."

A pause, then, “Embarrassing yourself is hardly the worst thing that could have happened.”

"Yeah, well." Blaine shrugs before he remembers that Kurt can’t see him. "It’s the first thing that came to mind."

"I can see where you’re coming from, given how you’ve been living," Kurt says. "Why were you downtown?"

"Uh…"

"Shit, sorry, I don’t mean to pry or anything. I’m just curious. I promise I won’t tell anyone if you were doing anything suspicious."

Blaine grins. “It’s fine. I just walk around, I guess. It’s relaxing. Keeps me from going crazy, you know?”

"Until you run into Dominant creeps on the street."

"Right."

Kurt makes a thoughtful noise to himself as Blaine adjusts his position on the bed. He thinks he should maybe be frustrated that Kurt hasn’t done anything to, well,  _satisfy_  him, but he’s not. Simply talking to him is helping Blaine unwind — all of a sudden it occurs to him that he doesn’t exactly have a friend he can talk to like this. Maybe that’s why it’s as relieving as it is. He doesn’t have to watch his every word and movement and nuance; he can just be.

After a long while of near-silence, however, Blaine starts fidgeting.

"Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"Are you… What are we doing?" Blaine asks uncertainly.

"Oh, I— I don’t know," Kurt stutters. He clears his throat. "Actually, to be honest, I’m a little nervous."

“ _You’re_  nervous?” Blaine turns his head towards the phone with an disbelieving expression. “No way.”

"Not about doing this, necessarily, but about what would happen if we got caught. I can’t afford the repercussions of something like that."

_And there it is_ , Blaine thinks bitterly. Kurt’s giving up on him before they’ve even started. “I get it.”

"Get what?"

"You don’t want to do this in case we get in trouble. It’s fine, I don’t care either way," Blaine lies through his teeth. In all honesty, he does understand Kurt’s reasoning; the laws against what they’re doing are painfully clear and nearly impossible to skirt around. Not to mention the fact that the consequences are ruthless, all in the name of providing safety for Doms and subs alike. So much for that.

"Did I ever say I don’t want to do this?"

"… No?"

"Mm. You have  _no_  idea how much I want to help you, Blaine.”

"So I’m a project?"

Kurt sighs. “No. I have my reasons, but none of them are that I want to be some kind of brave saint for the sake of it.”

Blaine’s not completely convinced, but he can hear the sincerity in Kurt’s voice. It’s not what’s he’s used to — it’s not even his style to let people help him for any reason whatsoever, worried they’d figure him out, peel him back to just Blaine. But Kurt already knows more than anyone else and he’s still here, still willing.

Curious, Blaine asks, “If I’m not your charity project, then why?”

"If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep that to myself," Kurt says with a sense of gentle finality, signaling to Blaine that he won’t give away more than that. There’s a deep breath that comes through the phone, then, "Are you still on your knees?"

Blaine wants to leap for joy, but he restrains himself. Although, when he says “Yes,” even he can discern his own excitement in the tone of it.

"Good. Now, there isn’t much I can do from here without having talked to you in person about limits and so on first. You’ll be okay with that?"

"Yes, Kurt." Blaine resists the urge to clear his throat when his voice comes out a bit scratchy. Despite nothing having happened yet, Kurt’s tone has shifted in such a way that he’s unwaveringly confident, commanding Blaine’s attention with each syllable. And, if Blaine’s not mistaken, Kurt’s voice has also gone shades lower — it’s possibly one of the hottest fucking things he’s ever heard.

"Okay. Touch yourself, but don’t undo your pants. Tell me when you’re ready to move on. We’ll have red to stop and yellow to ease up for temporary safewords, if needed."

All Blaine can think, his hand reaching to rub and squeeze at his cock through his jeans, is that this is way better than his imagination. He can’t help the quiet sounds that fall from his lips the closer he gets to being hard; it’s like every touch is magnified, somehow, by the simple fact that Kurt  _wants_  him to do this, is expecting it of him. The only downside is that he’s not directly pleasing Kurt, the man’s sweet voice orchestrating Blaine’s body for the sole purpose of satisfying himself.

"Don’t hold back, Blaine," Kurt murmurs when he cuts off a low groan, his hips canting into his palm for more friction.

"Fuck, Kurt, I’m ready," Blaine says, greedy for what’s next to come. Palming himself through his jeans is nice and all, but it’s rarely even close to what he needs.

Kurt hums, low and sultry. “Get rid of your clothes, all of them.”

His shirt falls to the floor with a dull thump, followed closely by his jeans and briefs and socks. A chill passes over Blaine’s skin and he shivers. “Done.”

"God, I wish I could see you right now," Kurt says — it sounds as though he’s talking to himself. "Have you ever fingered yourself?"

"Uh, once," Blaine admits, flushing a little. Kurt makes him feel so fucking inexperienced, but in a good way. After all, Kurt’s kind of his mentor right now, isn’t he? Something like that. Whatever he is, Blaine has an uncharacteristic amount of faith that, for as long as Kurt’s willing to be a part of this, he’ll take him through it with care. "I liked it, I just never really got around to doing it again."

"Well, let’s change that. Lube?"

"Yeah, I’ve got it," Blaine says, the bottle suddenly crystal-clear even out of the corner of his eye. He reaches, grabs it, pops it open. Kurt’s voice comes back to him as he’s warming the lube between his fingers.

"One finger at a time, and don’t add another until I say so. Okay?"

"Okay. Yes."

"And another thing."

"Hm?"

"Be loud," Kurt says, low and quiet yet clear as anything. "If I’m not able to see you, I want to hear. Everything."

Blaine whines, pushing away the question that pops up — that is, whether or not Kurt’s only doing this for Blaine and not even a little bit for himself. Everything in him centers on two things: Kurt’s voice and his own finger, which, after rubbing and pressing, finally pushes in. It’s foreign and kind of weird, but Blaine persists through the initial dull burn that he knows will fade away.

"How does it feel?" Kurt asks after a while, a period of time punctuated by Blaine’s quiet sounds as he sets up a rhythm for himself.

"Like I have a finger in my ass," Blaine says matter-of-factly with a little laugh, perfectly aware that he’s stating the obvious. Kurt scoffs.

"Okay, smartass. For that, you don’t get to touch yourself unless I say so."

"Oh, god,  _Kurt_. Can I at least use two fingers now? Please?”

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Blaine loses track of things for a moment at the nickname, almost positive that Kurt doesn’t realize he said it, but at the second finger pushing its way in, stretching him, he forgets about it.

Blaine’s louder now that he’s fuller, and he wants more than anything to get a hand on his cock where it hangs heavy and hard — but that’s not what Kurt wants, so he leaves it alone in favor of fucking his fingers in deeper. Doing what Kurt wants is more than satisfying enough, warmth settling in every part of him that has nothing to do with what he’s physically doing and everything to do with Kurt’s encouragement and praise.

"Three, please?" Blaine asks, voice tight with the need for more.

"Not yet. Keep fucking yourself the way you are, Blaine, you’re doing so well."

"Kurt," Blaine groans. By now he’s leaning as far forward as he can manage, his forearm holding his upper body above the mattress as he tries to work in at a different angle.

"Get on your back," Kurt says a few seconds later, and Blaine hurries to comply, loving the way the muscles in his legs ache from being bent underneath him for so long, for this reason. He can get his fingers in a little deeper now, thank god. "Is that easier?"

"Yes, fuck, it’s—" Blaine’s fingers finally drag over that spot inside and he fucking  _moans_ , hips jerking as he finds it again, heat concentrating into white-hot sparks that tug and pull at his nerves. 

"That’s it, sweetheart," Kurt says, and Blaine wishes he could see him, touch him, god, taste him. This is good, so good, but still.

"Want you, Kurt," Blaine grits out.

"You wish it were me fucking you with my fingers, hm? I could make it last so long, Blaine, make you beg me for more."

"Please." Blaine gasps with another pass of his fingers against his prostate, arches his back off the bed and falls back down.

"Can you come just from your fingers, nothing else?" Kurt asks, and as soon as he says it Blaine knows he can, he’s already so close. Fuck, he’d try to make himself come from just one finger stroking in if that’s what Kurt wanted of him.

"Yes, god, yes," Blaine says. "Can I… ?"

"Mhm. Come for me, sweetheart."

It’s partly his submissive nature that drives him near instantly to the edge, but it’s Kurt’s voice, sweetly rough, that pushes him over, draws him up tight and, with another thrust of his fingers, lets him snap. Blaine jerks through it, come spilling warm across his chest and arm. It takes a while to come down; when he does, he realizes that his eyes are still squeezed shut. Relaxing his muscles, Blaine draws his fingers out with a tiny sound at the oversensitivity. He still feels warm everywhere, even as the air cools his sweat and his come starts to dry tacky on his skin.

"Kurt," he says, without any real idea of what he wants to say. So he says it again. "Kurt."

"Very good, Blaine," Kurt says; Blaine frowns a little when he hears that Kurt’s still obviously strung-up and struggling to keep his voice even.

"Didn’t you…"

"Don’t worry about me, this was for you," Kurt assures him. Blaine doesn’t want to just accept that, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. "I wanted to take care of you, you needed it."

"But I want you to feel good, too—"

"Another time, Blaine. I really, really have to go, though, I’m sorry."

"Oh. Okay."

"Get yourself some water, let yourself relax, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine echoes; what else can he say? He’s already itching to follow the order for water, both out of being a sub and being thirsty, but he hangs on. "Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt’s voice is softer, not so strained, when he says, “You’re always welcome. I’m glad I could help.”

_But now I want to help you_ , Blaine thinks, aching to say it even though he’s sure Kurt would decline the offer again. “See you, then.”

"Sooner than you think." Blaine swears he can hear the wink even as the line clicks dead, Kurt off to… do whatever he’s doing. He has a feeling it’s to jerk off — that’s what Blaine would do in his position. But the fact that he can’t be a part of it leaves a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.

Which is stupid. Kurt isn’t obligated to do anything — he’s not even Blaine’s Dom, he’s just a Dom that’s helping Blaine work through literally years of not fully dealing with his submissiveness. That should be reason enough for him not to complain, because where would he be without Kurt? Still submitting to no one but a fucking voice in his head, probably. Kurt’s real, and caring, and that’s all he needs right now.

Blaine finally gets up, legs wobbling slightly, to get a glass of water like Kurt asked him to. Told him to. He’s still naked as he makes his way to the kitchen, but he doesn’t fucking care. No one’s home anyway — no one’s ever home.

The water, cool against his tongue, calms the bitterness somewhat. He can’t ask any more of Kurt than he already has, and he’ll just have to deal with it. It’ll be a fine summer regardless to (kind of) have a Dom like Kurt to pull him apart in the process of repairing him. That in itself is more than Blaine had ever dared to hope for, at least while he’s still a captive of McKinley, where everyone expects him to be Dominant in nature and demeanor.

Still, when he flops back down on his bed to get a quick nap, Blaine can’t help wishing he could get just a little bit more than friendly help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: hand & blow jobs, a lil bit o' facefucking

What started off as a light sprinkle turns into a downpour by the time Blaine reaches the address that Kurt had given him a few days ago. It does absolutely nothing to ease his nerves — he’s irritable, anxious, and drenched. That combination has never served him well, and he’s about to turn around and go home when he finally notices where Kurt lives.

It’s a very small apartment complex, the only one in Lima, and Blaine knows from general conversation that long-term occupants are rare. Almost no one moves to Lima to rent out an apartment for longer than a year. It’s usually either full-on moving into a house or staying in a motel for up to a month for whatever reason. People don’t like to stick around Lima unless they’re committed to staying.

Why it matters so much, Blaine has no idea. It probably doesn’t — maybe Kurt prefers the apartment over owning a house. In any case, it makes him uneasy for no good reason.

"Blaine? God, what are you doing out here? You don’t even have a hat, at least?"

He turns to see Kurt walking down the sidewalk towards him, an umbrella in hand. It’s the first time he’s seen Kurt since… well, since they met, but it doesn’t feel like that. Blaine doesn’t want to think too hard about what it  _does_  feel like — as if where he is right now, under Kurt’s gaze, is where he’s supposed to be. He lets himself stare for a second before his eyes drop down.

"Hey, look at me." The rain stops; it takes a moment for Blaine to realize it’s because Kurt’s standing next to him and holding the umbrella above them both. He looks up and Kurt’s there with a soft smile. "Let’s go inside before you catch something."

"I won’t catch anything," Blaine mumbles, though he falls in step with Kurt as they head for the apartment building. Kurt scoffs.

"Uh-huh. Sorry I’m late, by the way, I got held up."

"Don’t worry about it."

"This whole summer teaching thing is not my forte," Kurt sighs as he opens the door, allowing Blaine in first.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asks, confused. Kurt steps in after him, hanging up his coat.

"I’m not a full-time dance instructor or anything," Kurt says. "It’s just a summer job. Back at home I do one weekend a month of different workshops too, but that’s a volunteer thing."

"Home?"

"New York City."

Blaine’s pretty sure his eyes might explode from how wide they are. “Fuck— Sorry, I mean, I had no idea.”

"Mhm, well, I was lucky and I got out of here."

"But… you’re back. Doesn’t that kind of suck?"

Kurt takes Blaine’s shoulders, gently, and turns him around. His hand comes down to the small of Blaine’s back and presses, guiding him through the apartment. It’s utterly relaxing, the contact, and Blaine finds himself breathing more easily just from that.

"It does, a little," Kurt concedes. "There are some bad memories. But I have my family here, and I get to teach a class on something I love. So it’s not too bad."

Blaine hums and nods, though he doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t know what he’d love enough to enjoy teaching, and family? He might as well have rocks for parents for all they do for him. They aren’t cruel and they love him, but their jobs take them around the country. The only time they’re both always home is Christmas. Blaine harbors a quiet love for the holiday as a result.

What he loves about his parents is that they don’t ask questions. They’re aware that he’s a sub, they must be aware of his Dom tattoo and the way he dresses compared to years ago, but he has never heard a single thing against any of it. The problem is, he hasn’t heard any encouraging words, either. They’re just kind of  _there_ , an empty comfort even when they’re home. But Blaine’ll take any kind of comfort he can get.

"In here," Kurt mutters, and Blaine finds himself stepping into a clean, uncluttered bathroom. He’d be more surprised by how clean it is if he weren’t wondering why the hell he’s in here. "Okay. Do you trust me?"

"Yes?" Blaine says, uncertain as he turns to face Kurt, whose expression is soft but generally unreadable. Kurt doesn’t continue, so Blaine adds more confidently, "Yes, I do."

Kurt grins. “For a mysterious guy dressed in leather, you’re extraordinarily trusting.”

"Why shouldn’t I trust you?" Blaine asks, suddenly a little wary. "Is there a criminal record I should know about?"

"No, no, I guess I’m just surprised that you’re treating me like we’ve known each other much longer than, what, a week?"

"You  _did_  take my over-the-phone orgasm virginity.” Kurt barks out a short laugh, his grin spreading wider.

"That’s true. Sorry, I just— I worry."

"Please don’t. I want you to help me, Kurt, you know I do." Blaine takes the opportunity to pull off the multitude of rubber bands on his left wrist, exposing his sub mark. Kurt’s eyes follow his wrist as he drops it back down, and he knows he’s convinced him. For now, anyway.

"Okay," Kurt says quietly. He stands up a little straighter. "Strip."

Blaine’s hands move to unzip his jacket even as he furrows his brows and asks, “What?” Kurt arches an eyebrow.

"You’re going to take a shower; you’re a mess from walking around out there. Besides, it’s easier to relax after a warm shower."

"And you won’t join me?" Blaine tries, but Kurt just shakes his head, a smirk turning up a corner of his mouth.

"Baby steps, Blaine. We’ll save that for another time."

He feels self-conscious undressing like this in front of Kurt without either of them expecting anything just yet, but he can’t help but notice that his breathing has gone slightly shallow from the intensity of Kurt’s gaze. It’s no surprise, then, that he’s already on his way to half-hardness by the time he takes off his briefs. And Kurt notices; it’s evident in his searching, shameless eyes. Blaine shrugs, completely naked now and possibly a bit flattered by the attention he’s being given.

"I’ll have dry clothes for you when you’re done," Kurt tells him. "Just take a right out this door; my room is the second on the left."

"Okay."

Kurt nods, turning to leave. He stops just outside the door, turns back. “I don’t know if you were planning on it, but don’t touch yourself just yet. I promise we’ll get to that later, and I don’t need you worn out before we’ve started.”

Blaine swallows; Kurt’s not exactly helping his physical problem, but the relief he feels at being given such an order is palpable. This is what he’s here for — someone to take care of him, a Dom. “Yes, Kurt.”

"Good. See you in a bit, Blaine." Kurt closes the door after he leaves, taking the rain-soaked clothes with him, and Blaine lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

"Shit," he mutters, turning on the water. As soon as he steps into the shower the hot spray is a fucking godsend, warming every inch of him that needs it. A dull ache low in his stomach, barely there but still, reminds him that his cock is definitely still interested — Blaine makes no move towards helping himself, though, Kurt’s voice clear in his head. The voice steadies him, a kind promise of a reward soon to come.

It should be weird. Blaine’s in the apartment of a Dominant man he barely knows, here to work out the bumps of an agreement that is without doubt illegal and to most likely end up having sex one way or another as part of said agreement. Of course, it’s possible for Doms and subs to have romantic relationships free of sex, but the intimacy involved in it strips both parties to their roots, balancing and strengthening them individually and as a unit. Blaine would be stupid not to expect that to be a part of this even if Kurt probably won’t be the Dom that finally claims him — there’s no more effective way to pull at his submissiveness, to allow it to show in the most intimate way possible, to heal whatever it is that’s tired and broken from pretending.

When he’s finished washing up, Blaine resigns himself to the fact that he’s doomed to be half-hard even as he steps out; he’s thinking too much, maybe even  _expecting_  too much, and his imagination is having a profound effect on him. Still, he doesn’t dare touch.

Blaine dries himself off, frowning into the mirror at the mess of his hair. He doesn’t have anything here to tame it with, not without asking Kurt if he can borrow some gel or something. It’s not like he plasters his hair to his head or anything, but  _god_ , his freshly-dried hair always makes him feel like a fucking poodle.

It’s cold when he steps out of the steam-warmed bathroom with a towel around his waist, but it’s not too long of a walk before he comes across the second door on the left, which is ajar. Blaine nudges it open carefully, smiling in spite of himself when he catches sight of Kurt, dressed down in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt. Kurt glances over at him and nods to another pair of sweats and a white t-shirt sitting on the bed.

"For me?" Blaine asks, making sure as he walks in.

"All yours," Kurt hums. "I don’t know how well they’ll fit, though."

Blaine sizes up the clothes and says, “I think they’re good. Thanks.”

"No problem." Kurt isn’t watching as Blaine changes; he sits down on the opposite edge of the bed and stares at his phone, occasionally tapping the screen. He doesn’t turn around until Blaine clears his throat.

"Can I?" Blaine says quietly, a knee already up on the bed. Kurt nods and he brings his other leg up, shuffling until he has room to kneel on the mattress facing Kurt.

"Perfect," Kurt murmurs almost to himself, and Blaine feels a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with his cock and everything to do with being exactly what his Dom wants. Turning around entirely and crossing his legs on the mattress, Kurt fixes him with an even gaze. "Okay, before anything else happens, we need to talk."

"Safeword?"

"Among other things. I’ll admit I’ve never really been that…  _adventurous_ ,” Kurt says, suddenly fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “But I’m willing to try anything that you feel might help you the most, as a sub.”

Blaine shrugs. “Honestly, you know more than I do. I don’t know if I’d be up for the, uh, riding crops and really intense pain stuff, though.” He’s heard of a lot of the ways that Doms and subs can work with their inherent roles, but as submissive as he’s starting to realize he is, Blaine isn’t at all sure about extreme pain.

Kurt hums, thoughtful. “Noted. Is there anything you already know you’re okay with?”

"Bondage would probably be fine," Blaine says, tapping his thigh as he thinks. "And, um. Denial? Stuff like that. Verbal stuff." Kurt raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Alright. That should cover enough for now; if anything else comes up we’ll talk then. As for safewords, would red, yellow, and green work for you? It’s not like we’re, you know. In a true relationship." Kurt clears his throat and adds, "No need to break our backs over it."

"Yeah, fine," Blaine mumbles. "Is that it?" Frowning, Kurt uncrosses his legs, then crosses them again as if changing his mind.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Blaine." Blaine flinches imperceptibly at the slight hardness in Kurt’s voice, resentful of the fact that his submissiveness is begging him to tell Kurt everything. But if he gives all of himself up, Kurt’ll probably pull away and try to find another, indirect way to help him so that he doesn’t have to worry about Blaine getting attached. So he has no choice but to hold back. At least he’s had plenty of practice in doing so.

Besides, it’s fucking stupid. Who falls for an admittedly kind stranger? Not Blaine Anderson. Or maybe he does. Whatever. Kurt still can’t know a damn thing about it or he’s screwed. If he ends up having this opportunity taken away, if he has to go back to getting off to a voice in his head in private just to keep from going insane… Blaine doesn’t want to think about it.

"Look, if you don’t want to do this—"

"No, I do!" Blaine cuts in, sharp. Kurt stares at him, confused. "I’m fine, I swear. Maybe I’m just nervous." It’s half true, at least; he  _is_  nervous, but not that much. He trusts Kurt, no matter how crazy it might be given how long they’ve known each other. Maybe it’s a sub thing.

"Okay, well… if you’re sure. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"I’m not, Kurt. Really."

Kurt gives him an appraising look; Blaine straightens his back and attempts to appear ready and willing. Apparently he succeeds because Kurt shifts closer and reaches for Blaine’s left wrist, his grip loose but calming on the sub mark.

"Lie back for me," Kurt hums, gentle, and Blaine does just that, letting Kurt move him with soft touches and words. "Relax."

"Are you giving me a massage?" Blaine asks, lifting his head to keep his eyes on Kurt when he sits back on his knees again. "It seems like it."

Kurt rolls his eyes, nudging Blaine’s legs apart so he can settle between them, and oh, that’s a picture Blaine is  _so_  saving in his head for the next time he’s alone. “In a manner of speaking, I guess I am.”

It surprises him entirely when Kurt then leans over him and presses his lips to Blaine’s, the pressure light and teasing until Blaine can’t help but press back. He feels Kurt’s lips curve into a smile before they’re parting and  _fuck_ , that’s Kurt’s tongue on his bottom lip, tracing it until Blaine opens up and they’re kissing deeper.

Having Kurt’s weight above him, despite the fact that their hips are separated, is more amazing than he could have imagined. Blaine’s surrounded by Kurt, secure underneath him, and it’s even better when Kurt’s hands find his wrists and pin them down.

"Color?" Kurt asks, breath warm on Blaine’s cheek.

"Fuck, green," Blaine groans. "Is there a color for ‘more, please?’"

Kurt chuckles. “Nope. Use your words for that.”

"Fine," Blaine grunts, then, "Kurt, please."

"You can do better than that."

"God, please Kurt, I need more of you," Blaine says, lower body straining for some kind of contact. "I need— Touch me, somehow, please."

"Good," Kurt says, low in Blaine’s ear. "Keep your arm up." Before Blaine knows what’s going on, the grip on one wrist is gone and Kurt’s hand is dragging feather-light down his side. He shifts, huffing when the touch tickles his ribs through the shirt ( _Kurt’s_  shirt). Kurt mumbles an apology but Blaine really couldn’t care less because the man on top of him is rubbing him through his sweatpants and it’s fucking fantastic.

Kurt’s tongue finds the dip of Blaine’s collarbone and licks, teeth pulling carefully at the skin the next moment and making Blaine gasp, hips jerking up into Kurt’s hand. The contact leaves Blaine’s cock and he whines, but Kurt just slips his hand into the pants, fingers circling his cock directly; it’s just this side of dry but so much better than before.

"Tell me when you’re close," Kurt says. Blaine nods, desperately wanting to touch Kurt. But he keeps his free arm as still as possible, wouldn’t dare move it unless Kurt gave him permission. It doesn’t take long for Blaine to reach the edge anyway, what with Kurt twisting slightly on the upstroke and mouthing at his neck and holding his wrist hard enough to bruise.

"Kurt, Kurt I’m close," Blaine manages to gasp out, hips twitching as Kurt releases his cock, draws his hand out. "Wh— What?"

Kurt hushes him, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into his hip. “Remember what I said your first private lesson would be?”

Blaine shakes his head; his memory comes up almost empty except for the tiniest frustrating tendril of familiarity. Grinning down at him, Kurt sits back up, his comforting weight gone. Blaine’s about to protest when Kurt’s hands go to his waistband, drawing Blaine’s eyes to the obvious shape of Kurt’s cock. He remembers, then, with a sudden, heated jolt. “ _Oh_.”

"There you go, sweetheart," Kurt says, still smiling when Blaine looks back up at him. "Up, we’re gonna switch." Blaine gets to his knees, slightly awkward and shaky, and Kurt’s on him again, guiding his hands to the hem of his shirt.

"You want me to…"

"Take my shirt off," Kurt finishes, lifting his arms to let Blaine tug it off — it’s not what he’d call graceful, but Blaine doesn’t care and it doesn’t seem like Kurt cares, either. He cares much more about the fact that he has Kurt’s warm skin under his palms — he doesn’t want to stop touching.

"Can I take these off too?" Blaine asks hopefully, fingers dipping into the waistband after he’s had some time to explore Kurt’s body. Nodding, Kurt holds up a finger to stall him.

"Let me lie down first."

Blaine watches, wide-eyed, as Kurt spreads himself out on the bed, all lean muscle shifting underneath pale skin, a knowing expression on his face when he lifts his hips, wiggling them a little. Taking the cue, Blaine hurries to slip the pants off — he slows when Kurt’s cock, flushed and stiff, smacks back against his skin. Blaine doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Kurt clears his throat, eyes dark and twinkling.

"I’m flattered," he says, sounding genuine, "but my legs are still trapped."

"Oh. Shit, sorry," Blaine mutters, finally tugging the sweats off completely and tossing them to the floor. He’s on his knees still, with no plans to change that unless Kurt wants him in some other position. A part of him wants Kurt to wait until he’s had his fill of looking — not that he thinks he could possibly take in all of this man right now, in the next hour, in the coming months, not unless he spends day and night mapping Kurt’s contours.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great," Blaine says, swallowing. "I’d just… really like to do something, if that’s okay."

"You want to suck my cock?"

Blaine’s eyes snap to Kurt’s cock and back to his face; he nods, a little nervous but so fucking eager to have it in his mouth, to make Kurt feel good.  _God_ , he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a week — a week too long, apparently. “I’m not sure, uh, where to start?” he asks, which sounds like a ridiculous question once he says it out loud.

Kurt smiles. “Take your time. You don’t even have to put it in your mouth yet if you don’t feel ready—”

"I want to," Blaine says quickly. Kurt quirks an eyebrow, pleased.

"Work your way up to it, then. No rush."

"Should I take my clothes off first?"

"No," Kurt says, voice low in a way that sends heat swirling deep in his belly. "You look good in my clothes."

"Oh, yeah, okay," Blaine stammers. So much for being a badass — he feels stripped down from that particular layer, like Kurt can see underneath his pretenses even beyond the fact that he’s not a Dom like the world believes. It’s like Kurt can see, well,  _him_. The thought is terrifying and comforting all at once, so Blaine decides to shove it away as he positions himself lower. Fingers thread through his hair and he looks up at Kurt, who’s flushed and grinning.

"Just giving you a bit of help for your first time, sweetheart," he says, and then he’s guiding Blaine to his cock, slowly, as though giving him time to back out even now.

Backing out, of course, is the last thing on his mind. Blaine drops his jaw and licks experimentally up the shaft of Kurt’s cock, eyes focused on the reaction. Kurt’s grip in his hair tightens, then loosens, and Blaine decides he’s done something right so he keeps at it, mouthing at the sides. It’s all he can do not to rut into the mattress when Kurt whines, almost too soft for him to hear.

Feeling bold, Blaine takes Kurt’s cock in his hand, lifting it up so he can sink his mouth around the head, careful to cover his teeth as he bobs lower. His mouth is almost uncomfortably full but the feeling is  _amazing_ , definitely not what he’d expected simply from having a cock in his mouth. He takes some time to get used to it, but when Kurt tightens his fingers in his hair again, Blaine isn’t ready for it — his hips jerk down, rubbing his cock into the mattress.

"None of that," Kurt breathes, tilting Blaine’s head up until their eyes meet. Kurt’s voice is rough, his pupils blown dark, and it starts to sink in that it’s because of  _him_ , that Blaine’s turning him on and doing everything he should. “Hold off until I come. I have something planned.”

Blaine hums in affirmation and Kurt’s clearly taken off-guard as he moans, head dropping back and back arching, driving his cock almost too far into Blaine’s mouth. After that it doesn’t take long, not when Blaine’s hand strokes Kurt’s cock where his mouth can’t reach, not when he pulls back excruciatingly slow so that Kurt, with a grunt, tugs him back into a steady pace.

"Fuck, are you comfortable with swallowing?" Kurt groans, his hips squirming as he tries not to fuck into Blaine’s throat. Blaine pulls off, still held low by Kurt’s grip, and nods after a moment.

"I can try," he says. The idea itself is a little intimidating, but not much more so than actually sucking Kurt’s dick had seemed. And, as it turns out, he’s fucking awesome at that for a first-timer.

"Okay," Kurt mutters. "Don’t feel like you have to, though, if you need to pull off just— What?" he adds, confused when Blaine grins at him.

"I’ll try," Blaine repeats. "Can I please finish sucking your cock now?"

It takes a second or two but a smirk grows on Kurt’s lips and he guides Blaine back down in answer, just this side of rough. Blaine hums again, feeling far more content than he has in years — even  _happy_ , which isn’t a word he’s been able to use in complete honesty for longer than he can remember. His lips start to ache from stretching and sucking but he keeps at it, his focus divided between making Kurt feel amazing and keeping his hips from touching the bed.

"Blaine, I’m gonna come," Kurt warns; Blaine holds Kurt’s hips down with his free arm and it’s mere moments before Kurt tenses up underneath him with a quiet, low moan, hand like a vise in his hair. Come spills bitter onto his tongue and Blaine swallows what he can, pulling off to pump Kurt’s cock until he’s stopped shuddering.

Blaine swears, eyes wide as he takes Kurt in — he’s nothing short of debauched, chest heaving and pink where the flush has spread. It then occurs to Blaine just how, well, naked Kurt is compared to himself. It’s jarring.

"So good," Kurt praises, the corner of his mouth quirked back in that half-smirk of his that Blaine’s starting to associate with him. "Come up here, sweetheart."

Blaine frowns, shuffling to Kurt’s side on his knees. “Here?”

"Almost. Put one leg on the other side." Blaine does, straddling Kurt’s chest. He blinks down at him and waits for another order, an inkling of what might happen spreading in his imagination. "Now, hold on to the headboard with both hands and don’t let go."

"Are you…" Blaine trails off, staring down at Kurt even as his arms already start to burn slightly. Kurt’s hands run up his thighs and Blaine shivers.

"I’m returning the favor," Kurt hums; with that he tugs Blaine’s sweatpants as low as he can get them, Blaine biting his lip as his cock springs absurdly up, hard and  _right there_  in front of Kurt’s face. He feels himself flush, anxious and way too excited when Kurt grasps it and strokes once. “You can move — you’ll know if I think you’re moving too much.”

"God, okay. Kurt, I don’t think I’ll, um, last."

"Hold on just a little longer for me," Kurt says, his other hand coming around to push him closer until his cock brushes Kurt’s lips. "Can you take that?"

"I can take anything you want me to," Blaine says in a rush.

"Oh, I like that answer."

Without warning, Kurt takes him in his mouth, lips stretched around his cock and free hand squeezing his ass almost as a secondary thought. Blaine moans, the sound punctuated by the occasional swear and  _Kurt_  as Kurt urges him to move, to fuck his mouth and even his throat once or twice or maybe a lot (Blaine loses count). Soon it’s nearly too much for him to continue without possibly exploding mind, body, and soul, so he slows down and Kurt pulls off, replacing his mouth with rapid pulls of his hand.

"Come on my face," he says, looking up at Blaine through some strands of his hair that have fallen over the course of the past hour or so. "Go ahead."

Blaine practically shouts when he finally comes, forcing his eyes open before he’s finished coming down so he can see Kurt’s skin streaked in white, a splash of it on his lips. Kurt smiles and licks it off — if it were possible, Blaine’s pretty sure he could have gotten hard again just from that image. As it is, he’s oversensitive, and Kurt realizes it.

"You can lie down," he murmurs. Blaine doesn’t care how ridiculous it looks; he just flops onto his back next to him, utterly sated and high off of pleasure in a way he’s never quite experienced before. "I’ll be right back."

Blaine doesn’t have the energy to protest as Kurt gets up and leaves the room, but it isn’t long before he’s back, his face and skin clean, a damp towel in one hand and Blaine’s dry clothes in another. He cleans the come that had ended up on Blaine’s skin and tosses the towel to a basket in the corner. Blaine pulls his pants back up and sighs, watching Kurt dress himself back up as well.

"Thank you."

Kurt turns to him, expression soft as he lays the clothes near Blaine’s feet. “It’s no problem, seriously. But you’re welcome.”

_Actually, it could be a big problem_ , Blaine thinks, but he keeps it to himself. No need to drag the subject back up after one of the best orgasms he’s had in a long time, and especially not after his first time actually giving one. “So now…”

Kurt checks his phone. “I’m going to my parents’ for dinner soon. You’re free to leave when you feel ready to do so. And for god’s sake, take my extra umbrella from the entrance hall if it’s still raining.”

Blaine blinks, cursing himself for expecting Kurt to stay here with him — of course he has his own schedule to keep up with. “What, you don’t think I’ll ransack your apartment once you’re gone?”

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt scoffs, opening the closet to root through it. "You’re far from being some kind of juvenile delinquent, even if some people would disagree with me. Besides, you wouldn’t get away with it, and that’s a promise."

"Damn."

Walking back towards the bed with dark jeans and a simple button-up shirt on his arm, Kurt tilts his head, biting his lip. “Is there anything else you’d like from me?”

"I don’t know if I should ask," Blaine says slowly. Kurt shrugs.

"Try me."

"Will you just, uh, lay here with me for a bit?" Kurt appraises him for a moment then nods, a little tight-lipped but, ultimately, Blaine doesn’t care to let it worry him.

"Roll to your side," Kurt tells him; he gets on the bed and wraps an arm over Blaine’s waist, a hand quickly finding his left wrist to rub soothingly at the mark. His chest is close enough to Blaine’s back that he can feel the heat radiating off of him — it’s comforting. "This good?"

"Perfect," Blaine breathes. It’s not everything but it’s what he needs right now in this moment, and that’s all he can possibly expect. So it’s perfect, though imperfectly so.

In fact, it’s perfect enough that he drifts off into sleep before he knows it. By the time he wakes up an hour later, Kurt’s gone.

Blaine quietly changes into his clothes, taking care to leave Kurt’s in the basket to be washed, and though he surreptitiously searches for a note or something that Kurt might have left him, he finds nothing. Resigned, he leaves, the umbrella offer unneeded since the rain has stopped, leaving the neighborhood soaked and dreary.

Physically and mentally, he has never felt better. His thoughts are sharp rather than clouded with worry, and a deep-down ache in his chest that he didn’t realize he had is easing up. What he’s doing with Kurt is apparently working, thank god, and that’s great in and of itself.

Emotionally, well. He’s selfishly, stupidly disappointed. Not with what they did — fuck, he hasn’t been that happy in so long — but with Kurt’s relative passiveness afterwards. It’s selfish because he can’t expect Kurt to have some kind of connection with him beyond being a helping hand, a mentor. Blaine can’t just become an intimate part of his life like that. It’s stupid because Kurt’s twenty-five and he’s eighteen, because they could get in so much trouble just for the help that Kurt’s giving him, because he’s stuck in a spiral of pretending with no real way out until graduation, when he can move away and act like he’d never pretended to be a Dom once in his life.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Blaine walks on, taking the long way home. There’s nothing important waiting for him there, anyway. If only he could convince himself there’s nothing important behind him, from where he’d left, either.


End file.
